


Twentieth

by isitandwonder



Series: Sherlock Advent Calendar [20]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adultery, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 22:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5473028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isitandwonder/pseuds/isitandwonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is kind of adulterous parentlock. I've no idea where this came from...<br/>If you prefer Mary Morstan to stay alive, you should probably stop reading this right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twentieth

John's a married man. He knows it's wrong to enjoy being sucked off by his former flatmate but he does enjoy it none the less. Sherlock is on his knees between his thighs in their newly refurbished living room in their semi in a fashionable leafy suburb and Mary's out shopping for and with the baby with some other women she met at their prenatal class. If she's having fun, why shouldn't John?

His hand tightens in Sherlock's curls and he throws his head back as he comes into his friends mouth.

Just as he's got his breath back, there's a key turned in the lock of the front door. Sherlock is still wiping is mouth as Mary enters the house, shouting a welcome to both of them before disappearing up the stairs into the nursery to change Mina's nappy.

When she comes down again both man have straightened up their clothing and appearances enough to seem innocently watching cricket. Mary kisses John on the top of his head and hands him his sleepy daughter, pets Sherlock on the shoulder and offers to make tea.

\------------------------------------------------------

It happened the first time the night before the wedding. The stag night had ended disastrously, with both of them jailed for public indecency. Sherlock hadn't been used to the amount of booze necessary to forget that John was leaving (for good, as the saying goes, but of course, it wasn't good at all), and even John had problems holding the drink he'd deemed appropriate to consume to keep his desires in check. If the crazy nurse hadn't turned up he'd nevertheless probably shagged Sherlock on the kitchen table before the night had been over. But things had turned out differently.

The day before the wedding, John came to stay the night at Baker Street, as Mary insisted that it was traditional to spend the last night of their bachelor / spinster-hood apart.  
Having learned their lesson, Sherlock and John wisely abstained from the whisky. Instead they ordered take away (Chinese, of course, with Sherlock predicting the fortune cookies) but after dinner, there was a decision to be made between telly, Cluedo or ferocious groping on the couch, with the latter winning.

John had his hand down Sherlock's pants and it was a sight to behold to watch Sherlock come apart, equalled only perhaps by snogging the worlds only consulting detective nearly senseless. As John experienced warm ejaculate spilling over his hand he asked himself why they had waited so fucking long to just get it on.

In the end, the kitchen table had it coming.

\-----------------------------------------------------

If they'd thought it would be a one-off they'd been hugely mistaken. At least, John tries. He maintains a low profile for a month, cycling to work, painting the nursery, mowing the lawn but there's only so much one can take and stumbling over Sherlock in a crack den before witnessing him kissing his… _girlfriend_ … would have made a better man than John throwing some of his moral principles to the wind.

So, after Magnussen and his bouncers have left, John nearly drags Sherlock into his bedroom and rogers him properly in his fancy Egyptian cotton sheets, conveying all his frustration with matrimonial life as well as his anger about Sherlock's relapse and – more importantly, his friend cheating on him (by way of fornicating with the bridesmaid) - in an act of fierce sodomy.

Of course, Sherlock had been aware that it would happen again but thinks it best not to point this out to John. Neither does he argue that, technically speaking, it's true that he is deceiving someone, but the one to complain should be Janine; that the fornication is between him and John, while the only real adulterer in the room right now is Doctor John Hamish Watson, married (at least technically if not legally) to a woman who calls herself Mary Morstan; but then, John had never been too keen on semantics.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

The day ends with Sherlock in hospital, flatlining, as John discovers some surprising truths about the woman he calls his wife.

He spends the months afterwards alternating between his convalescent friend at Baker Street and the pregnant assassin he'd chosen to marry.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

At this time, it's easy. John can tell himself that he owes Mary nothing and doesn't even have to come up with flimsy alibis. He has to be with Sherlock and as long as they go about things behind closed doors, everything is fine.

Mrs. Hudson walks nearly in on them a few times but as Sherlock is famous for lounging around for days in just pyjama bottoms and silky dressing gowns in an increasing state of dishevelment and has never had a real sense for personal space, she's quite unsuspecting.

They have to be careful, at first, for the bullet wound was serious and has to heal properly. It's six weeks before the sutures can be removed. The pent-up frustration lingering at 221b is discharged by way of epic sulks and boisterous domestics that have the married one's from next door complaining to Mrs. Hudson. 

By the time Sherlock returns from the surgery after his final examination they are both jumpy and itching with it, so it's a rather rough shag over the nearest reasonably clean horizontal surface – the desk in their sitting room – just to relief the tension. Sherlock is a bit sore afterwards but that doesn't stop him from wanting John to top again just a few hours later, in bed this time and John is only too happy to oblige. They draw it out as they go for it a second time, as Sherlock's back arches off the mattress while he positively growls John's name in that deep voice of his (because the person addressed is hitting that sweet spot inside him with every thrust) a sheen of sweat glistening on his marble torso, John asks himself again why they can't stay like this forever.

But then Sherlock shoots Magnussen and is sent into exile; even as that lasts only for about four minutes, when the baby is born shortly afterwards, John returns to Mary.

\------------------------------------

Which is OK with Sherlock, because, even after she shot him Sherlock genuinely likes Mary. He knows that, in the long run, he's more one to endure than adore. He'd probably eaten John alive if he'd stayed. They'd both burn like a beacon, quick and too bright, leaving only ash and destruction in their wake. 

And John would miss his child.

But they can't stay apart either. A pattern evolves. John goes on the odd case with Sherlock and happens to stay the night. This means full on penetrative anal sex, at least if they don't end up at A&E, in the Thames or abducted in some villains dungeon (even if that had been a stimulating location at least once).

When Sherlock comes round now and then to meet his god-daughter and give John a hand with the baby while Mary is out with her friends, only blow jobs ensue. John is a bit sensitive about buggering Sherlock in his and Mary's conjugal bed, a notion Sherlock accepts for the time being. 

At first they have a go at it when Mina takes her nap in the afternoon but have to be more careful when she grows up and stops sleeping during the day. She likes to play hide and seek and can sneak up on you almost silently, something Sherlock admires.

\--------------------------------------

When Mina is about three, Mary goes to France for the weekend with some friends and the ostracism cast over the double bed in the master bedroom is redeemed quite spectacularly, with John whispering confessions of love next to Sherlock's sweaty temple that may be spoken and received in the dead of night but never in bright daylight. 

Of course, Sherlock knows and so just wraps his long legs around John's waist to pull him in deeper, consuming his lover/blogger/best friend while serving himself up on a plate. He is - and will always be – John's, no matter to whom the other man is betrothed due to administrative decisions and in the public eye. They've come the long way round but even now notions of sentimentality and tenderness have to be confined to late hours and dark, locked rooms.

In the morning they fight about if it's appropriate for Sherlock to put chocolate digestives in Mina's lunch box, until the little girl announces that she'd hold her breath until they stop screaming at each other, a tactic she'd learned from her god-father. John then goes for a walk, leaving the two of them to their own devices, knowing they'll get on splendidly. 

\--------------------------------------

About six month after the glorious initiation of the Watson's marital bed by an act of lascivious sodomy, Mary is shot in the head while mowing the lawn. Mina's sitting on her swing and watches her mother drop dead but is too small to understand.

She and her father move into Baker Street that afternoon, and when his daughter starts to speak again after ten days of total silence – asking Sherlock quite casually what he's doing to the poor rabbit - John is so relieved that he hugs and kisses first her and then Sherlock. To his utter surprise the world doesn't stop turning, nor does the earth swallow him whole.

As Mina needs her space, it's only natural that she gets the upstairs bedroom to herself. Everybody agrees to that.


End file.
